I fucking hate Mississippi. It freaks me right out. I flew through Louisiana yesterday and arrived in Pearl, MS to spend the night. I cannot begin to tell you the feeling - maybe it's the DEEEEEEP drawls, which I imagine is the southern equivalent of someone from the South Bronx. Or maybe it's that damn overly polite attitude. Creeps me out. I do not find it sweet, nor charming.
The front desk fellow Reese told me how much he loves his job - he was pulling a double tonight. 3:00 PM till 7:00 AM. He said even if he was rich he would still do the job, he's been doing it for 25 years. He claims to love it. I don't find that sweet or endearing. I find that he feels LUCKY to have this job. There was something sad about him.
I got up to my room and felt uncomfortable here - call it a bad energy, I just didn't feel right and couldn't get comfortable from the word go, even though I was cross eyed tired. Every place I had stopped in and around Mississippi, I fel the same feeling: I wanted out.
Last night, I called my Dad to let him know where I was, and he said: "You're in Pearl? Pearl Mississippi?" Yeah, why? "When I was working for UPI in 1959 in Atlanta, there was a lynching in Pearl - it was a huge story, because lynchings weren't happening anymore." (anymore. Wow.)
Maybe it's the memories that linger on here. But it's something that we cannot forget. Mack Charles Parker and many others before him, RIP.
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